


An Artist's Impression

by twdsunshine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Apocalypse, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twdsunshine/pseuds/twdsunshine
Summary: Pre-Apocalypse.  The reader is on her way back from class when she stops to warm up in a cosy café and ends up sketching a handsome stranger.





	An Artist's Impression

The little café on the corner of Smith Street was unusually quiet that afternoon.  It was late autumn, and you’d shivered as you crunched along through the rusty-coloured leaves covering the pavement, your sketchbook clutched tightly in your arms as you headed home from class.  As you’d come into view of the cosy little coffee shop, it had looked so warm and inviting that you couldn’t resist the urge to step inside and order a large hot chocolate to warm your freezing hands.

Taking your mug with a nod of thanks, you wandered over to a table in a little alcove and sat down, cupping your hands round your drink for a minute before opening your sketchbook and flipping to a fresh page, pulling a pencil from the pocket of your satchel.  You began to draw quickly, marking the page with smooth, confident lines, as you recreated the scene in front of you:  the steaming mug of chocolate, the little vase of white flowers on the table, the view across the café, empty tables positioned neatly in a row along the front window, and the trees lining the pavement outside, half-bare as their leaves twirled listlessly to the ground.

You were just adding the finishing touches, sipping at the dregs of your drink and debating ordering another when a man you hadn’t noticed entering slid into one of the tables in your eye line, obscuring some of the view that you were perfecting on your page.  You cursed him under your breath, sighing as you leaned to the side to finish putting the detail to the bench that he was now hiding from your sight.  It was as you were doing this that he glanced up and met your eyes, and your breath caught in your throat for a moment.  You forced yourself to look away, back down towards your work, and when you looked up again, he’d pulled a large pile of paperwork from his bag and was flicking through it with a red pen held between his teeth.  

Debating for a moment, you flagged the waitress down for another hot chocolate, and then began to add him to your picture, your pencil flying deftly across the page, as you studied him from afar.

He was maybe the most handsome man you’d ever seen outside of TV shows and movies, yet there was something very real about him.  As you drew, you thought perhaps it was his imperfections that brought him to life, set him apart from the glossy made-up men in the magazines.  He had dark hair, which you imagined had started the day slicked back, but now had the tousled look of having had fingers run through it, and you held back a grin as you watched him lean back in his chair and do exactly that.  He had a serious face that sported a dark moustache and short salt and pepper beard, although the intensity of his expression was broken when he received his food order from the waitress, taking his plate from her with a dazzling smile.  His eyes, when he raised his head to look out of the window as he chewed thoughtfully on his panini, were a deep brown, and you knew that you had the exact same shade of oil paint at home but you couldn’t remember the name.  You moved down to add in his broad shoulders encased in a white t-shirt, the leather jacket tossed over the chair opposite him, which blocked your view of his long, jean-clad legs.  He was interesting to look at, you thought, adding in the crinkles round his eyes and the furrow of his brow as he concentrated on the papers beside him on the table.

Happy with your drawing, you flipped over the page, and tore a fresh sheet from the sketchbook, starting a more intricate study of the man’s face, adding in more detail as you worked on the close-up.  As you were about to start the outline of his eyes, you looked up to see that he’d pulled a pair of dark-rimmed glasses from his pocket and placed them on his nose, and your pencil flew over the paper, adding in this new detail, noting how the specs made him look more distinguished, as he glanced down through the lenses and made another squiggle on the top sheet of his pile of work, before moving on to the next one down.

You imagined he might be a teacher, as he looked like he might be grading essays, but you didn’t remember ever having any teachers that dressed like he did.  You glanced up again, adding in the shadows thrown over his face by the sun as it started to dip down behind the buildings on the opposite side of the street, and it was this sure sign of the evening drawing in that forced you to down your pencil.  It was going to be dark soon and you needed to get home.  You cast your eyes back over your portrait, happy with the results, wondering if you’d be able to turn it into a larger canvas work when you had the time.  

The waitress brushed past your table as you reached for your bag to pack up your things, and the loose sheet of paper caught on the breeze she created, floating down to settle on the ground beside you.  Before you could react, long slender fingers had reached down for it, and the man placed it gently back on your table.

‘Think you dropped this, doll.’

His voice was a deep rasp, and you felt your heart race as you looked up to meet his eyes.  You really did have the perfect oil to colour them, you thought, but his gaze was still fixed to your drawing.

'Wow,’ he licked his lips and let out a low whistle, before finally turning to look at you appraisingly.  'That’s some fuckin’ talent you’ve got there, sweetheart.’

'Erm, thanks,’ your voice was quiet and wavered as you ducked your head shyly, not good at taking praise for your work.  

'No, thank you.  Fuck, that is some damn good shit.’  His language surprised you, but you found that you weren’t particularly bothered by it.  All you really wanted to do now was get out of the situation, as your cheeks flushed red in embarrassment that he knew you’d chosen to draw him.  'Can I keep it?’

'Oh.’  His request had taken you aback, and you quickly reached for the paper, snatching it up before he could take it.  'No, sorry.  I’m… I want to turn it into a painting, but I can’t do that without…’  You gestured to the pencil sketch and watched as a smile spread over his handsome face, revealing dimpled cheeks which you hadn’t noticed from across the room.  

He reached out a hand and plucked the drawing from your grasp, smirking at your gasp of shock.

'Well, then I guess we’re gonna have to do this again sometime, aren’t we doll?’  He leaned down to whisper in your ear, as you stood rooted to the spot.  'Only next time, let’s make it a private sitting.’


End file.
